


when you're with me, no judgment

by heavensfallingaroundus



Series: bits and bobs [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Ficlet, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus
Summary: He doesn't even ring him. He doesn'thaveto.
Relationships: Taron Egerton/Richard Madden
Series: bits and bobs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668343
Comments: 21
Kudos: 60





	when you're with me, no judgment

**Author's Note:**

> It's a hard time for everyone: I desperately want to make it better for myself and try to bring joy to everybody else too, if I can.
> 
> I don't know what this is, if I'm honest. It was supposed to be longer, possibly PWP, but you know what? I've been reading a fuckton of ficlets lately, and I've been enjoying them. Plus (and this maybe is the real reason behind what you're about to read being less than 1k words) this is unfortunately all that my brain could muster in the past couple of weeks. But I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> I miss these two idiots. Also, I have been listening to Niall Horan way more than I'd like to admit.

_Even though we don't talk for a couple of months, yeah  
It's like we didn't lose any time  
I can be your lover or your shoulder to cry on  
You can be whoever you like_

Taron is grocery shopping at Marks & Spencer’s when he spots them. An array of cans. Eye-catching, bright colours and more understated, hip hues of metals and pastels, sitting in the refrigerated beverages section. Among them, the loud, emerald green one that brings about a tsunami of memories. The very same gin-in-a-tin that Richard brought to his trailer that first night during filming, that night when—

He doesn’t even ring him. Picks up four cans and a bottle of red. Tries not to linger over the Percy Pigs next to the self-service tills. Ends up buying two packs, because there’s an offer on—which is the same as usual, to be fair, but shut up. Pays, flies out of the store and back to his car. Puts on some old Ed Sheeran while he drives. That album that makes him think of the summer of 2014 and filming _Kingsman_.

He most certainly speeds, a bad habit that he never used to have before—

He’s almost sure he got flashed near Finsbury Park Station, but he doesn’t give much of a toss. Miraculously, he finds a spot right in front of the snazzy house that looks exactly like the others around it, but that seems to be fluorescent, tonight, glowing red and orange and yellow in the remains of the day, popping out of the row of elegant North London homes in the neighbourhood. Beckoning him. Screaming that he really should hurry, get out of his car, walk the few steps that separate him from the door, and ring the doorbell.

He does. Gathers everything he needs in his M&S plastic bag and stares at the heavy mahogany door for a few beats before ringing—heart beating out of his ribcage, unsteady breathing, sweaty palms.

As if.

As if he hadn’t done this before. As if they were used to anything else, anything less than complete synchronicity. Tuned to match each other’s every wish, bodies and souls separate but also one and the same.

Richard’s face is wet, curls heavy and dripping over his brow. He’s wearing a bathrobe, deep navy, soft looking. Remainders of foamy shower gel speckled all over the thick hair on his chest. He leans over the frame and simply smiles.

“Hello, you.”

“Bonsoir.”

“I missed ye,” Richard says, genuine. Raspy but singing. Glasgow in his voice. “Come in?”

“Brought you…”

“Sweets? G&T?” Richard interrupts him, pulling him inside by the lapels of his jacket, wolfish grin painted on his stupid handsome face.

“Wasn’t sure—oh, alright,” he says, appreciatively, as Richard pins him to the door, wrists to each side of his head, and the grocery bag hits the carpet with an ominous thud. He smiles too, then.

“You know I can’t have carbs,” Richard growls. Hot breath caressing his earlobe, teeth pulling at it immediately after. Tongue lingering in the hollow of his piercing.

“Just made me think of you,” Taron replies, as nonchalantly as he can muster, biting back a loud moan. “I… Oh, Dickie, _fuck_ ,” he whispers, as Richard moves down to kiss in the crook of his neck, tongue and teeth scraping him there too, pitiless, sucking and rumbling softly as he marks him. “Been… mmh… too long,” Taron groans, hungry fingers instinctively slithering through Richard’s locks, pulling him closer, looking for more.

When Richard finally kisses him, ravenous and fierce, Taron can finally breathe again.

Breathe _him_ in. Verbena on his skin. Whisky and tobacco on his tongue.

In a matter of heartbeats, autopilot is on, and clothes come off. Richard lifts him up and effortlessly carries him for a few steps, before stopping and nodding his head left, in the direction of the stairs going up to his bedroom, then right, towards the living room. Ocean eyes stained black with lust planted on Taron’s, inquiring.

“Couch,” Taron mumbles inside yet another kiss, fingers digging in every ridge of muscle on Richard’s back. Holding on.

“Love it when you do this,” Richard says, a few minutes later, when they finally come together. One body, one soul. “When you come back to me.”

Taron slips out in the middle of the night.

He knows Richard will understand.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this didn't suck *too* bad.
> 
> I love you all. Please stay safe.  
> More coming soon.
> 
> Take care,
> 
> C xx


End file.
